On the Run
by Cape Magician
Summary: Mark knew it was going to be dangerous. but when his life and that of a young boy is threatened, he has no choice but to help the Autobots and outrun his enemies, all the while racing to win the biggest illegal street race in history. (TEMPORARY HIATUS)
1. Chapter 1

**Start**

**San Francisco, California…**

The sun had just began to appear on the horizon, bathing the city in a golden haze and casting a mile-long shadow of the Golden Gate across the bay. The temperatures had not returned after last nights' cold front, convincing most of the population that the most ideal place to be was in bed. Most people would wake to a normal Thursday, complete with the trials and tribulations of deadlines, projects and chores. The day was expected to be like any other, and the early hours of the morning preceding it would be of no difference. Only today there was something different. A tire squeal, an engine rumbling, a changing of gear. Today there were sounds coming from the shadows.

In Pacific Heights wrought iron gates silently swung open to reveal a driveway surrounded by sprawling lawns. From it slid out a black Lamborghini Gallardo Spider with the roof up. With the driver keeping at low revs as to not wake the wealthy neighbors he made his way east towards the city center. North of the heights in Marina, a young woman with red hair wearing a leather jacket got into a white Mustang with blue stripes. Checking her mirrors she drove out of the parking lot also towards the city center. In a back alley in Chinatown a hooded figure stepped out a back door and into a lime green Scirocco with emerald wheel arches. With puddles splashing he drove out onto the road, heading west towards Market Street. From an abandoned storm drain south of Market zipped out two Nissan 370Z's, each glinting a different color as the light caught them leaving their hiding place. A couple of Miles out of San Francisco drove a convoy of several sports cars, brought up from the rear by a red Aston Martin with yellow decals and a dark purple custom cruising alongside. While all these vehicles were designed for speed, none of them broke any laws as they descended upon the city. And while to the naked eye these cars may have seemed to possess nothing in common, there was one denominator between them. Their destination.

At the top of Nobb Hill two men in their twenties walked up to a set of traffic lights. Making sure there was no one else about they walked out into the middle of the road and placed two brightly burning flares on the ground. At the same time, security cameras mounted on the walls of the corner buildings swiveled down to get a clear view of the flares and surrounding road. By the time they got into position the two men had vanished.

And in an empty street in the former rail yards of Mission Bay a garage door creaked into life. From the shadows behind it came a low growling sound. A moment later the source of the growl drove out of the warehouse and down the street. The wheels of the black BMW kicked up dust as it made its' way out of the industrial district and towards Nobb hill. In its passenger seat lay a burner cellphone and a tablet. The phone was connected to an earpiece in the driver's ear, as to ensure continuous freedom of hands. He was going to need it. He was of medium build with short spiky brown hair and dark brown eyes that were kept trained to the road ahead. He also broke no laws as he ascended the hill.

Watching all of these cars were a collection of police cruisers, making a point to stick well behind their targets in case of being spotted. Their orders were to not engage. After all, none of these vehicles had committed a felony. And more importantly, not until the rhinos were in position.

The cars began to arrive at the top of Nobb hill, taking care to not cross the two flares at the start of the steep road downwards. Parking spaces along each side quickly filled up. From the side roads peeked the cruisers, patiently waiting for the chaos to commence. The drivers of the sports cars knew that the cops were there, but this fact had no effect on them. There was too much money at stake.

The Beemer rolled into a parking bay, its engine idling. From his space on the street the driver could make out the blue-striped Mustang and the green Scirocco. He made eye-contact with both drivers and gave a small nod. They nodded back. All three tightened their grips on the steering wheel.

…

_36 hours earlier…_

"_250k is a lot of money, Mark."_

_The woman's gaze was stern and unforgiving as she sat across the small table from the young man. He meanwhile continued to drink his tea._

_The two of them were sitting in the corner of a downtown Chinese restaurant. Apart from a disgruntled waiter chopping down on some pork rinds, the place was virtually empty. But every now and then a person would emerge from the kitchen door and walk straight out into the night. Each one holding a black tablet._

_The woman was dressed in a black business suit and matching heels. At her feet lay a black attaché case and around her neck, a pendant in the shape of a viper. After receiving no response she bent forward. "Did you hear me?"_

"_I heard you." Said Mark. "I just didn't think you needed an answer."_

"_Cut the crap, Mark. This is serious." Snapped the woman. "Do you realize how big a bet this is?!"_

_The response came in the form of Mark gulping down the remains of his drink. The woman slammed her hand down on the table causing the cutlery to clatter. The waiter looked briefly up from his work but then immediately went back to it. Mark barely flinched. Slowly he placed his cup down on the table. He looked straight at her._

"_How long have we known each other, Rachel?" he asked._

_She frowned. "What?"_

"_Not long, I agree." He continued. "But you have known about me for a while. When I called you you said to meet here. You suggested this place before I even told you why I was calling, and we both know what's behind those doors, so no way is it a coincidence. We both had the same idea, you just beat me to it. And since you've known about me for so long you were more than willing to make this 'investment' using my 'talents.' He smirked. "I'll even bet that the money in that bag of yours isn't there anymore." _

_Rachel pursed her lips. She started to reach for the case._

"_Hold on." Mark held up a finger and she paused as he had a thought. "You're smart though. You're a businesswoman and your goal is to make a profit on your investments. I mean what businessman would say no to giving 250,000 for a 25 million return. But there is a very big chance you won't win, not with the sort of competition you're dealing with. But again, you're smart." He cocked his head. "So to a smart person like you, a better idea would be to invest more to increase your chances of winning." He cocked his head to the other side. "So therefore Rachel," he leaned forward and gave a knowing grin. "I'm guessing that I'm not the first person to have sat in this chair tonight."_

_Rachel said nothing. Instead she crossed her arms slowly and lay back in her chair._

_Mark also leaned back. "Who else?"_

"_Kato." _

_He snorted. "Seriously?"_

"_He's good."_

"_He gets carsick after a mile. Anyone else?"_

_Again, Rachel said nothing. She looked down at the table._

_Mark's eyes went wide before letting go a sigh. "Laura?"_

"_Her Mustang's proven to be effective."_

"_Yeah, her big thirsty Mustang. She'll spend more time at the pump than on the road."_

_Rachel frowned at this comment. "You're one to talk; you've got a V8 as well."_

"_I didn't go and add two turbochargers to it." Mark argued._

"_And you think those bulletproof windows of yours don't add any extra weight?"_

_Mark went suddenly quiet. Eventually he spoke. "Are you gonna give it to me or not?"_

_Rachel said nothing as she reached down for the case. Clicking it open she took out a black tablet, identical to the others Mark had seen. He reached out to take it but then suddenly Rachel pulled her arm back._

"_There's one more thing."_

"_What?"_

"_I bought you a car."_

_A frown instantly appeared. "Uh, I have one thanks."_

"_Mark," she said. "You are about to break a hell lot of laws. You're gonna have 13 states worth of cops trying to stop you, and I guarantee that they'll won't play nice."_

"_Hang on," Mark interrupted. "You wouldn't have just bought a car for me."_

"_You're right. Like you said, I'm smart." She smiled. "There are two cars waiting in Chicago, and when they announce where the checkpoint before New York is, there will be one car waiting there." She continued smiling. "I tell you, they didn't come cheap. All spanking new with no heat on them, you should be grateful."_

_Mark was silent. He leaned forward. "You really expect one of us to crash and burn before Chicago?" he sneered._

"_A girl can't be too careful." She replied, still smiling. She held out the tablet. "And it's just a bit of motivation for you three to do your best. And I know how all of you aren't ones for sharing."_

_Mark took the tablet. Without saying another word he got up and headed for the door._

"_Oh, and Mark?" Rachel called out. He turned round and stared at her._

"_I hear Robert Keller's nephew's taking part." She said. "You might want to watch out for his black Gallardo."_

_Mark blinked and tensed up. Maintaining his silence he strode out the entrance. Rachel went back to enjoying her tea._

….

On the passenger seat the tablet flickered into life. It displayed a big orange ten and then started counting down. Mark's hand slowly reached down for the gear lever. At the same time, the police cruisers started their engines and almost all of the 200 cars sitting behind him on the street revved their engines once.

5…4…3…2…1…

Then all hell broke loose.

**To be continued…**

**A/N: Now that's a bit better. Read and review, please! **

**CM**


	2. Escape

**Escape**

Mark's foot slammed down on the accelerator and he wrenched the steering wheel to the left. The BMW left elevenses on the tarmac as it leapt out of the parking space and out into the middle of the road. Unfortunately every other car did exactly the same thing. Mark was thrown around in his seat as a racer collided with his back bumper and then another on his right side. Out in front, the Mustang and Gti had disappeared in the wave of cars scrambling to get down the hill. The police shot out of their hiding places, smashing into the cars closest to them and swerving around to inflict as much damage as possible. Suddenly one of these cruisers braked sideways and came to a stop merely a few yards ahead of Mark. At this speed and with no time to stop, it was a guaranteed head-on crash. But before he could react a streak of orange flew by on his left side as a sedan overtook him at high speed. Not seeing the obstacle and far too late to avoid it, the car slammed into the cruiser with a bone-shattering crash. While the remains of the sedan limped to a stop at the side of the road, the cruiser had flipped, disappearing over the steep inclined road ahead. A moment later Mark was also on the incline.

As soon as he was facing downwards, he pressed down on two buttons on the steering wheel. From which an electric signal was sent through the car to the back. The current sparked a connection between the exhaust and pipes connected to two large canisters in the boot. The pipes jerked as nitrous oxide was forced through them from the canisters into the exhaust pipe. Here it ignited, combined with fuel residue coming from the engine. Mark was propelled forward in a newfound burst of speed as blue flames erupted from the back of the Beemer. All four tires were kept on the road as the car shot past several others, including the battered shell of the police cruiser which had come to rest halfway through a shop window. At the bottom of the street a collection of cruisers had come together to form a makeshift blockade, trying to cut the racers off from any exit roads. However the blockade proved to be too short as racers swerved by them, some even going on the pavement to not risk damaging their precious rides.

At the top of the hill, a red Aston Martin and a purple custom had appeared and were making their way down, cautious to not make contact with any of the wrecks that now littered the street.

Passing the blockade and racing through a back alley, Mark quickly looked down as he heard a beeping noise coming from the passenger seat. The tablet had turned itself back on and was now showing a map of North America. Zooming onto the Western side a pulsing red dot appeared in the middle of Nevada State, along with the numbers 150.

The message was clear. Mark had to be in the top 150 racers when he reached the small town of Jasper, otherwise he would be disqualified from the race. Drifting out of the alley he began to make his way South through the city. The car's tires screeched as corner after corner drifted by. Every now and then another racer would appear, sometimes followed by one or a few police cars.

Eventually a junction to join the main highway came into view in the distance. The plan was to go left and follow the highway out of San Francisco and into the parks. Mark was just about to get into position when he saw something that instantly made him slow down and hesitate. With a roar of its V10 he saw a black Lamborghini hurtle by on the overhead pass also heading south. Mark watched it go by, knowing exactly who the driver was, and what he was capable of doing. Suddenly he heard the sound of approaching police sirens from behind. He didn't have time to find another route through the city, and he wouldn't dare follow the Lambo. Making a split-second decision and praying to God that he wouldn't be too late, he pulled away and turned right, heading North on the highway towards the bridge. As he sped along he saw several race cars heading in the opposite direction, and looking in the rearview he could see a collection of others following him. And not far behind them, four speeding cruisers.

Three miles ahead, civilian cars were being forced to slow down to an obstruction. Porsche Cayennes, or 'rhinos' as they were called, were the brutes of the SFPD, only called in on the rarest of occasions. The five of them blocked every lane on the highway and there were no gaps to speak of.

The BMW swerved onto the yellow lane and stayed there. As for the other racers, some had opted to do the same while the rest were playing daredevil, weaving in-between the cars as if within an elaborate maze. Inevitably for some, it ended in the unmistakable sound of a rear-end collision.

Meanwhile back at the highway turnoff, the red Aston and its' companion had arrived at the intersection and seemed to ponder over which route to take. After just a moment both cars created smoke as they spun off to the left, heading south to the parks. And at the top of Nob hill, two new cars had appeared at the starting line. A bright yellow Camaro with black stripes running down its hood, and a white Lamborghini Reventon sporting red and green tribal markings. They began to descend the hill at speed.

Back on the bridge the blockade was coming into view. Mark grimaced at the sight. He was expecting to come across some sort of problem but not in the form of rhinos. If he rammed it, he would most certainly be killed. But he couldn't stop either. Looking behind he saw that he was tailed by two other racers with a police car behind them. If he braked, the car would crash into him and jackknife him at high speed into the stationary traffic. Suddenly he saw an opening between two vehicles appear in the adjacent lane up ahead, creating a space big enough to pull into. Applying some nitrous he extended the gap between him and those behind them, and making sure that the two racers blocked the police cars' view of him. The roadblock was less than 200 meters now.

Mark slammed down on the brakes. Smoke began to billow out as his cars' rear tires locked up sending him drifting forwards. Wrenching the wheel to the right Mark skidded into the space with near accurate precision. A second later both racers screamed by. Another second later, the police cruiser passed too, accidently taking off Mark's side mirror in a twisting snap of broken metal and glass. Mark watched as the two racers reached the roadblock. Obviously they had been expecting Mark to make an opening for them at the cost of his car, but he hadn't, and now they were going too fast to stop. Mark watched as the first, a red Challenger, ploughed nose-first into one of the Cayennes. The 4x4 was tipped over as the Challenger buried itself in its side. The second racer then ploughed into the remains of the Challenger. There was an explosion as the three cars disappeared in a ball of flame, the force of which creating gaps in the roadblock as the surrounding rhinos were blown back.

Mark saw his chance. Lifting off the clutch he was back in the yellow lane hurtling towards the ruined roadblock. He shot passed the now-idling police cruiser and in a coincidental (though in retrospect intentional) move, took off the cars right side mirror. He passed the flaming wrecks and entered the center lane of the highway and accelerated.

San Francisco was a mess. Wrecks of cars littered the streets; fire hydrants gave off a continuous shower of water after having being pulled up from the pavement, and the constant sound of police and rescue vehicles sirens echoed between the buildings. Outside on the city limits, sports cars began to disappear into the countryside. A select few would opt to find their own way to the California border, but the majority would stay on the Altamont Pass leading into Yosemite.

Mark decided to stay on track and go on the Pass, as would no doubt his two colleagues, Laura and Kato. As for Matthew Keller, he could only hope to avoid him. Looking back down at his passenger seat the tablet was displaying a number. 189. His position. Forcing the accelerator pedal into the carpet, he began his journey towards the mountains.

An hour later on the Golden Gate, the Camaro and the Reventon passed the burnt-out shells of the three cars. The police had cordoned off the scene and were now allowing cars through. The two sports cars received no attention as they rolled by, as there were more important things to attend to. Now that the racers had left the city, the state troopers had been called and they were now taking control of the situation.

No-one noticed that there was only one driver between these two cars.

And as the red Aston Martin and its purple companion drove South of the city, no-one noticed that neither of these cars had drivers at all.

The race was underway.

**To be continued…**


	3. Confrontations

**Confrontations**

**Altamont pass Road, California…**

The wind turbines made no sound as they rotated to the light South-East wind. To passing motorists, they were quite a sight to behold. Countless of these white giants sprawled on yellow fields for miles and miles. However they would soon have to turn back to the road ahead of them, as this part of the interstate was known to play host to speed demons.

A point that was being precisely proven on this particular day. Every now and then a motorist would have to cringe and sometimes swerve as a racing car shot past them, showing no disregard for the rules in their attempts to outrun the competition. They had every incentive to. $25 million was a lot of money, not to mention the potential betting pool winnings and underground sponsorship deals. Every year 200 racers, hailing from all corners of the country and even beyond, would make this treacherous journey, with the sole dream of being crowned America's greatest and most wanted street racer. But this was a competition, and due to the high stakes the race had received the wrong kind of attention. Families and cartels now used the mayhem caused by the race to further their operations and some even attempting to rig the race results in their favor.

Around a tight bend sped two cars, narrowly missing the apex. The yellow Camaro led the way, seeming to be cautious in its movements as it overtook other cars on the freeway. The same however could not be said for the other car. The white Reventon was a maniac, cutting in front of cars at the last moment and changing lanes as if unable to make up its mind.

Suddenly the two cars could hear another powerful engine approaching from the rear. Looking in their rearview mirrors they could make out a black Lamborghini coming up behind them at speed. With a roar of the V10 the car past the two on the outside and narrowly missed ramming into a hatchback. The duo kept up with it, slowly but surely coming to level with it on a straight part of the freeway. A flash of blue appeared at the back of the Lambo as its driver applied nitrogen for an increase in speed, but despite it he was not able to pull away from his two opponents, who were looking for vacant lanes to accelerate down.

Suddenly and without warning, the Lambo swung to the right and collided with the Camaro's side. The car was thrown out of balance and began to swerve violently, the driver and car working together to regain control. Dropping back it took a moment to stabilize. While this was happening the Reventon had remained level with the assailant.

But the black Gallardo was not finished. Violently swerving to the left it attempted to slam into its counterpart. But the Reventon had seen it coming. Applying its brakes it dropped back, the Gallardo missing it by centimeters and then staying in front of it.

The 'driver' of the Reventon looked at its partner. The deep dents and scratches running along its side making anger swell to the surface. The Gallardo continued to cruise in front of him. The Reventon sped up and passed the Gallardo, remaining just ahead of it on the left side. Suddenly it swerved in front of it and before the Gallardo could even think of reacting, the brakes of the car in front lit up. The Gallardo's nose disappeared into the Reventon's tail with a crunch. Unbeknownst to the driver its front bumper had hooked onto the actual exhaust pipe.

The Reventon had noticed this and with a malicious grin, he sped up, drastically pulling away from the car being towed. There was the sound of screeching and tearing metal as the Gallardo's' front bumper was torn off. Being so thin and flimsy it was unhooked from the back of the Reventon and disappeared under the Gallardo. There was a loud bang as a sharp edge of the carbon fiber punctured the right front wheel. Immediately the black car slowed down, the Camaro passing it by on the outside and eventually hopping to a standstill at the side of the road. Feeling pleased with itself the Reventon waited until the Camaro was alongside before the two sped off.

Out stepped the driver of the ruined car. Striding to the front he looked down to inspect the damage. He turned around to watch the other cars disappearing into the distance. Grinding his teeth he made a mental note of their features.

And how he would tear them to pieces when he caught back up.

Taking out a mobile phone he dialed a number.

Meanwhile the sign welcoming motorists into Yosemite National Park went by unnoticed as the two cars cruised down the freeway. The driver of the Camaro was adamant that they lower their speed average for this stretch of the race.

The corners up ahead had claimed lives before.

**Tioga Pass Road, California…**

The sound of the M3's 4.4 liter engine echoed through the canyons, frightening birds off their perches and attracting the attention of local wildlife. The sun was on the verge of disappearing behind the high mountains, casting a shadow over the windy roads on either side of the immense valley. Sometimes they would cross the Tuolumne River with the help of a bridge and sometimes they would elevate right up to the edge of the inclines, where one side of the road was just a 90 degree drop down.

High up on one of these inclines cruised the black BMW, gleaming in the afternoon sunshine from the spray of the occasional waterfall. However the spray also made the roads slippery. Tires squealed as the car turned a corner, its back end coming out as its driver fought to not go drifting over the cliff.

This terrain was keeping Mark wide awake. He had been driving eight hours now with only fuel stops serving as rest periods. He looked down at the tablet on the passenger seat. It still displayed a map of the route and in the corner of the screen blinked a number. 160.

Then something hit Mark in the back.

He was thrown forwards in his seat as something slammed into his tail. The car's tires screeched as it started to swerve left and right. Straightening up he looked in his rearview.

Behind him were two other vehicles; a red Aston and a purple custom, the latter falling back a bit after ramming him and becoming level with the former. Mark couldn't see from where he sat, but the car had succeeded in slicing his number plate clean off. He concentrated on the road on front of him. They were now riding at the base of the mountains on the Northern side, nothing beyond the barrier on the right side of the road but open air and the valley 100 feet below.

The driver of the Aston was well aware how high they were up. It had been a while since the custom had seen some action and was teething for a brawl with someone. The Aston knew this and decided to grant him the pleasure. Sending a silent instruction to his subordinate the car responded by drawing closer to Mark.

The cars were now approaching a turnoff. A dirt road that went slightly higher into the mountains and that eventually joined back up with the highway. Of this fact Mark thought nothing of. He was too busy trying not to crash.

Suddenly the other car swung towards him. There was a horrible screech of tearing metal as the car collided with the right side of the M3. Mark was momentarily thrown off balance and struggled to maintain control. They were right next to the turnoff. Making a split second decision Mark hit the nitrous button again, which propelled his car forward with a small burst and onto the dirt road, the custom following him. The red car meanwhile opting to stay on the smooth tarmac. With a swing of the steering wheel Mark positioned himself right in front of his opponent, ensuring that he would not be able to pass and kicking up dust as to possibly blind him. But that was not what the other driver apparently had in mind. Without hesitation he slammed his car into the back of Mark's. Again he was thrown forward in his seat but kept control. Pulling back the opponent slammed into him a second time. Mark managed to stay in control but then cringed at the sound of tearing metal as the two cars collided. Unbeknownst to him his rear bumper had crumpled under the impact and had fallen off. Noticing the body part disappearing into the bushes in his rear view mirror and in a moment of blind judgement, Mark decided to play attack.

Gripping the steering wheel, he slowly moved to the left side and microscopically lifted his foot off the accelerator. The M3 dropped back to the left so that the rear wheels were in line with the other cars front wheels. The attacker smirked. He was making this too easy for him. Maintaining his current speed he readied to take a fourth swing at the black coupe'.

But before he could Mark forcefully hit the brakes. At the same time he wrenched the steering to the left. As he skidded out his rear wheel slid to the right and smashed into the opponent's front left wheel. The force of the blow forced the opponent's wheel to change direction, causing the entire car to turn towards the right side of the freeway. Also at the same time the wheel was forced inward so much that the front wheels made contact with the body of the car and were forced to lock up, causing the entire vehicle to basically flip. Unfortunately at that point they were on a bridge over a gap in the mountain range. The purple racer sailed over the barrier and disappeared down into the valley underneath, where eventually the sound of a mighty crash could be heard. Mark continued to skid sideways as the M3 eventually came to a stop, disappearing in a cloud of dust that had been kicked up by the sudden braking.

Catching his breath Mark looked down into the valley, marveling at how far the custom had rolled before coming to rest in a ball of flame. He then heard a revving engine. Looking into the distance he could make out the red streak that was the Aston Martin speeding further into the mountains.

The dirt road was quickly coming to an end as it ran parallel with the interstate before joining back onto it. The Aston cruising along it coming up soon to where the two roads met. An evil thought passed through Mark's head.

Spinning his wheels he pushed forward and sped up hastily. Quickly he was parallel to the Aston on the dirt track and the highway. Up ahead the tarmac curved to the left, right where the two roads joined. Just before they did, the M3 increased its speed. The Aston Martin drove round the curve and only then did it notice the black missile coming towards it. But by then it was already too late.

The BMW's right headlight and bumper buried itself into the Aston's left door, blowing the window out and jerking the entire car to the right. A scream of pain erupted from the cabin. The Beemer scraped forward and sparks appeared with the two cars sides grinding against each other. Upon becoming level Mark shot a glance into the cabin.

But he remained staring inside due to the shock of what he saw.

In the passenger seat wrapped in what appeared to be the seatbelt, was a young boy with red rimmed glasses and spiky brown hair. Mark could spot a patch of blood on his forehead and shoulder, most probably from the door closest to him being forced inwards. Mark, not knowing how to react appropriately, just sat there frozen.

The 'driver' of the red car was furious. Not by the loss of his subordinate but by the damage he had taken on. Pulling away to the right it swerved back again and smashed into the BMW. There was a bang as its body slammed into the M3's right front wheel. There was immediately another bang and a shower of sparks erupted from the M3's wheel arch. The rim had been forced inward by the blow and had jammed into the brake caliber, jamming into the wheel itself. Mark had no choice but to slow down. The M3 dropped back behind and slowed down to a complete stop.

Mark got out of the car. Not paying the slightest attention to the smoke now drifting up from his wheel-arch, he watched as his attacker disappeared from view.

As the Aston drove on, a voice that was not the boy's own spoke inside the cabin. It was dangerously low and seemed to be in mild pain. "He's ruined my left side." It murmured. "When we reach the next checkpoint I'm going to ruin his." The voice then cleared its throat. "And I don't mean his car." The boy couldn't respond due to the seatbelt gag, but he wouldn't have as he was too scared. He winced as blood trickled from the wound on his forehead. The only thought going through his mind was the constant hope that his friends were coming to save him.

**To be continued…**


End file.
